But after everything that’s happened, I needed this moment. To come back to myself. To remember who I am aside from theweight of a name that makes me a target, a joke, an object of vengeance.
I take in a long breath, trying to flush out all those stress hormones flooding my system. Exhaustion is starting to catch up with me, and I have a headache starting at the back of my neck.
And downstairs, waiting in the car for me—no doubt furious—I have a more immediate problem to deal with.
I’m not sure how long I sit there. Maybe ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. But I sit up when I hear a creak on the stairs outside.
Dami wouldn’t creep.
He’d just stomp up the steps and bang on the door, demanding I open it.
Maybe it was my imagination. But a second later, there’s a scratching sound. Very quiet. The door handle moves slowly. Down until it hits the lock. Then up again, silent.
My heart freezes for one horrible second, and I’m back in the basement, chained in the dark, hearing sounds I can’t identify, waiting endlessly.
But this isn’t the basement. I’m not chained. I can move. I canfight.
I scramble off the couch, looking for cover, but there is none. The tiny kitchen is in a room that opens fully into the rest of the space, and there aren’t any implements in there. Definitely no knives. Nothing except?—
A rusty length of rebar, lying forgotten on a low shelf in a doorless cupboard. I grab it.
The door explodes open, slamming into the wall, and I yelp in fright.
But a second later, I sag against the wall with relief. Damiano Orsini stands there, having just kicked the door in. “I told you it wasn’t safe.”
“You broke down a door just to make apoint?” I snap, anger coursing through me to cover up the fear.
And underneath the anger and the fear, something else. Something hot and electric that I only feel around this man.
He takes a slow step forward. “Itoldyou anyone could walk in here. You thought those no-hopers would keep you safe.” Another step. “But there’s only one person in this city who can really keep you safe, little prince.” He stops. Waits. “Isn’t there?”
Something in me rises up. Something I thought I’d lost.
“You’re right about that, Dami,” I say. “And I’ve done a pretty good job of looking after myself. I’m still standing, aren’t I?”
He takes another step. “Are you, though?” His eyes drop to my hand. The rebar. “Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“Show me you can protect yourself. Hit me.”
“I’m not going to?—”
“Hit me.”
“You made your point,” I say, “when you kicked the damn door in.”
“Nah. I’m not done making it.” He takes another two steps, and he’s close now. Almost in range. Behind him, the door is still wide open, and the stairs lead down three flights to the street.
He could throw me down them.
“You’re worried,” he observes. “Even though I’ve always been the one to save you, golden boy. Save you from yourself, even.”
I can already feel his hands around my neck again—or is that my heart in my throat? I lift up the metal bar. “Stay away from me,” I say, but it comes out strangled.
He smiles. “Or what?”
“Or I’ll…” I wave the rebar at him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
